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He left when I was 23. I'd known him since I was 16 and he was 15. At the end, he knew I was gay. I don't know what he was. I didn't ask or discuss the matter of us at all. How could I have been so foolish?
At first I wasn't even attracted to him. But it wasn't long before we became best friends, surely the best of all possible relationships. We spent pretty much all our time outside of school together. It wasn't until three years later that I knew I was in love. The first time. I didn't know how to act, what to do. It was a time and place of conformity, of unquestioned sins, of keeping your thoughts to yourself. There was a mix of joy and stress.
After high school, he went to the Navy. He had to go; I was able to avoid it. I was no soldier, even though as I was about to leave the examination place for the draft, an officer dangled the prospect of Officer Candidate School in front of me because of my test score, which I knew was perfect. I was completel
The AvengersLoki came to Earth and told us true
The bleaters want the answers given
And most of them did, but...
but some remained unsatisfied. Conflict began and did not really end. The most successful were the profiteers, as always, the sneakiest and boldest of all Sneakdom. And Loki was given much trouble by them. If either of these factions win, we lose.
Some of the powerful joined Loki as generals seeking a piece of pie. Four and twenty sixpence later, they remained unsatisfied and always will. Is Loki truly immortal? Will he live forever? I'm betting he will last as long as our descendents. That will be long enough.
P.S.: If there's anyone left, wake me up when it's over.
Lancelot Price 2014 April 18
Dead Anglo-Saxon Women in the GroundDead Anglo-Saxon Women in the Ground
Let there be light
[instead of greed]
Let there be trees
[instead of steel]
Let all the children live
Lancelot Price 2014 April 16
Once, I was a kid,Once, I was a kid, you know the one, the bright, too sensitive one, the nerd. When I was outside of school, I was protected, but inside school, it was a cloud of doubt, of nervousness and unease. Even if I wasn't challenged, attacked, I was always afraid. Afraid they'd find out I wasn't like them. Afraid I'd be hurt, destroyed. I knew things, but had to keep them hidden, not show off. If you did, it would draw their fire, which was dim, but angry. My life was pretending.
At last I grew up and learned the truth, about pretty much everything. But it didn't matter; most people would never know it, and everyone would forget.
Lancelot Price 2014 April 12
water memorywater memory
I remember how I was
I remember how iT was
never bring that back
swim team records gone
even four minute miles
and high jumps out of reach
water has forgotten
and yet you carry on
in different places
water is simply water
Lancelot Price 2014 April 9
We came to the top of the crest and looked down the fellside to the water. Two hundred feet below was a Red Stag. A medium size one. And not far away, a pair of Red Does. Humans still haven't made them extinct by accident in this part of the world. They were beautiful, wild. Wild is always beautiful. I pointed to the does and Jack looked. Oh, I should explain something here. Both of us are named Jack. Jack Cooper and Jack Morgan. We're together all the time. Have been since we were three, so when someone wants us, they just yell out Jaaaaacks! And both of us come running. Saves a lot of yelling time, I guess. [grin] I'm the Morgan one, Morgan, man of the sea in "Welsh". And Cooper, maker of barrels. Neither of our families were originally from the Lake District. Wales, or Cymry as we call it, is not far south and west, and Jack's family came from just east of Bristol. Our families came here not long after we were born, and even though we weren't born to and "steeped in th
busses and carsbusses and cars
Sometimes I want to just put my mind in first gear and stomp the accelerator to the floor and spin the tires till they've smoked away and the metal wheels start burning and see what happens. Like now. Visions of riding the bus to school, a city bus cos' they didn't have school buses in that town. always the same driver. never spoke to him, just rode in the sideways seat right behind him and looked out the windshield and the front sidewindows and never looked back. I could see his name badge in the display slot just above the windshield, but I don't remember right now what it was, one syllable per name, like Neil Scott or something. Five days a week. One time when I was still little I got hit by an impatient car when I got off the bus to cross the street to go to my house. It hit my beloved oval lunchbox with the Twentieth Century Limited wrapped around it, knocked it right out of my hand and knocked me down too. I've replayed that in my memory many t
living endhe intends to die a pauper
nothing of life unspent
every pleasure that can be had
shall be his
He got this far by luck
as so many of us humans do
And now that his ambition's gone
romantic concepts given up ........ as fantasies
Love and money
but yet he lives
He will live his most and best
and be unmarked
Lancelot Price 2014 January 24
The Wall is gone now, but we all still see it. That old world is still there, right on the other side, still a poison and a torture for the mind. The war gets colder and so do the Rules, the Right. We put on our thick winter coats and fur hats with flaps to cover our ears and shut out the noise, the toxic air. Heavy snow falls with weight of corpses and dead thinkings. Summer is the Future, the Dream. Visiting the Circus of the Dead, I find the clown cannon still there, just as it always was. I tilt it down and climb in backwards, tilt it up again, always tilting from one way to another, letting myself down to the bottom, the point of no return, and feeling brave and scared of what I leave behind, I keep on going. There's a trigger point ahead and when it's here I slam the giant red button that looks like a clown nose. Boom times a million, and i am flying. Over the Wall I go and then i fall from stratosphere like a ballistic missile with a deadly warhead and
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
SafeI clasped my hand tight shut around my mothers.
I was a possessive oyster wrapped around pearly fingers
bitten white by the freshly whisked air.
We braced ourselves against the frozen metal frames
that, although unmovable by infantile hands,
were not a substantial enough barrier against a tempest.
The sea lashed out its limbs in a fury
and the sky’s face paled grey with worry
at what that grasping anger might achieve.
It rose to greet us, stood on mighty churning haunches
and collapsed heavily around our shoulders
with the dramatic violence of a dancer
crashing down upon a splintered Tibia.
It drenched us, filling mouths and ears with water.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine, comforting,
and as the sea drew back again,
preparing to strike out at us over and over
until its very exhaustion point – and over once more –
As it readied itself to slash our raincoats,
with the force of an evening spiralling into true darkness,
over and over –
for a moment the smell o
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More